Twinkle Little Star
by milkforthesouffles
Summary: There was no question about it. He loved her from the first moment he met her. But, there are a few things that Sherlock needs to learn about babies and if along the way he learns a few things about himself then all the better. Sherlolly. *renamed (previously called The Godfather)*


Hi! This is my first Sherlolly fic :) Spoilers for S3. I've seen a few amazing babysitter!Sherlock fics so here's my contribution. Rating will likely go up. Enjoy!

-x-

If anyone asked John Watson, he would have wholeheartedly agreed that a call to go gallivanting off on a case at midnight on his wife's due date would have been a bit not good. A call several days after that when contractions had just started would logically then be considered more than a little bit not good. However, various studies and Internet forum opinions indicated that the birthing of a first born child was often late and took hours from the time of admittance to the hospital and the moment of birth. Sherlock supposed that John was being somewhat overemotional due to his nervousness at being a new father. For what reason, he could not fathom as he knew John would make an excellent parent to compensate for his own childhood growing up in a military family with an emotionally bereft father and an overindulgent, moderately alcoholic mother.

He decided to refrain from mentioning that the case on Mary's due date had been extremely diverting and would have been solved with plenty of time before the baby had decided to be born.

Moira Georgette Watson made herself acquainted with the world on a perfectly gorgeous and warm, sunny afternoon. Her loving parents, tearful and overjoyed, requested that Sherlock be her godfather. And, upon seeing such tiny perfection staring up at him with eyes as blue as the sky, he could not say anything but 'yes'.

"Hello!" A cheerful voice called from the doorway.

"Shh!" Sherlock's eyes shot up to the new visitor. He frantically shook his head, but stopped when he feared jostling the infant sleeping soundly in his arms.

Molly pressed her lips together to try to stop the grin that was trying to spread across her face. She was still both mad at him and ashamed for having physically lashed out him. And, it had been weeks since she'd seen him in the morgue.

But, before her was quite possibly the sweetest image she could've ever imagined: Sherlock Holmes sitting in the most uncomfortable, awkward position while keeping as still as a statue so as to not awaken the baby he was holding. He looked positively nerve-wracked and dishevelled. Molly did the only thing she could think of at that moment… she took out her mobile and snapped a picture.

And then, she snapped another of the scowl that graced the consulting detective's features a second later.

Molly turned away to put the large bouquet of flowers down so that Sherlock would be spared the sight of the smile that broke free of the confines of her self-control. There was no hiding it.

There was a quiet buzz from her mobile still in her hand. She glanced down at the device.

_Not a word_  
SH

Molly looked up at the exasperated detective. His face was rather scrunched up as he motioned towards the Watson's little bundle of joy. He pointedly wiggled the device in his hand to Molly who obligingly typed a response and hit send.

_Where are John and Mary?_  
MH

_Post-natal class_  
SH

Ah, it made more sense now. Although there was much humour to be found and made from the situation, she wisely held back. The new parents had obviously handed their daughter off to her godfather as a crash course in child-minding. It said much of their trust and love for their friend. Moira was scarcely a day old.

_I'm sure they'll be back soon_  
MH

Molly received no response except another scowl accompanied by a grimace. It made her smile all the more.

He had to move. His back and his arms were screaming from holding them in the same tense position for nearly twenty minutes. At the beginning, the baby had fussed and he'd found this precarious position to best appease the child who had then fallen asleep. He was now sitting nearly out of his chair oddly angled to the left; his arms hovering in mid-air whilst cradling the baby and his right leg splayed out to the right for balance.

_Can't you sit properly?_  
MH

_She'll wake_  
SH

_You can't keep this up much longer_  
MH

_Stop breathing so loud you'll wake her_  
SH

_Okay, well I have to get back to the lab. Tell John and Mary I'll stop by again later_  
MH

_Wait_  
SH

Molly looked up at Sherlock in question. He seemed reluctant to type out the next message. She noted he was doing quite well texting with just his thumb.

_Scratch my nose_  
SH

Molly's eyebrows rose immeasurably and the giggles she'd suppressed were threatening an uprising. Sherlock glared at her; his bottom lip was starting to stick out in a pout.

Expecting a text as Molly's fiddled with her mobile, the pout was accentuated by the furrowing of his eyebrows. Instead, there was the faint sound of the depression of a button indicating yet another picture being taken of his unfortunate circumstance.

He opened his mouth to object to Molly's callousness of enjoying his obvious discomfort, but was quickly cut off when she bent towards him and lightly scratched her fingernails over his nose.

Molly's heart thudded as the man she'd loved for years closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. She could feel his hot, ragged exhalation against the palm of her hand. She took it as a signal to keep scratching. I took hardly a moment to guess which spot the itch was located at.

Unfortunately, the relief of scratching that seemingly impossible itch was rather evident as a moan of utter delight escaped Sherlock's lips before he could stop himself.

In a split second, that delightful sound was replaced by the piercing wail of the newborn. Molly concluded that Moira Georgette certainly possessed a fine set of lungs.

"No, no, no!" Sherlock chanted repeatedly as he shot out of the chair past Molly and began to pace back and forth the cramped hospital room.

His abrupt movements only made the baby cry louder and more pitifully.

"John!" He bellowed desperately. "John!"

"Sherlock," Molly squeaked. "Calm down."

"She's crying," Sherlock hissed. "She's not stopping. Why won't she stop?"

Molly tried to reach out to help calm the newborn, but Sherlock continued to pace. He held Moira with the utmost care, but it was easy to see why the child was receiving no comfort.

"Stop!" Molly called out. The firmness of her tone made him look up. "Let me see her."

Sherlock reluctantly allowed Molly to take Moira from his arms. He received a nasty glare when he told her in no uncertain terms was she to drop the baby on her head. The pathologist cradled the baby close to her chest while she rocked her gently and made soft shushing noises. To his surprise, within a few moments, the baby quieted and focused on Molly's gentle face.

"You've got to move slowly," she said softly as she smiled up at Sherlock. "Keep her close to your body so that she's comforted by your warmth. Babies can sense your mood so just try to be calm and gentle with them."

"Ah," Sherlock nodded as his pulse started to return to normal. "They can sense fear. Like dogs."

Molly giggled and shook her head. "Please don't compare John and Mary's daughter to a dog in front of them!"

"Thank you, Molly Hooper." He ran his hand through his hair and exhaled with great relief.

"You'll catch on soon enough," she smiled.

Sherlock watched as Molly cooed and fawned over the tiny infant. He could see the way she sighed and smiled with the joy and sadness of a woman that ached to have her own family. He knew at once that Molly would make a wonderfully nurturing mother.

"My break is almost over." She stepped towards Sherlock to give the baby back to him.

"Why is she making that face?" He said suddenly alarmed at the strange almost pout Moira was making. "She's turning red."

"It's okay," Molly sighed. "She's going… she's doing a… she's having a bowel movement."

Sherlock recoiled in horror as an unfamiliar smell wafted up towards him.

"You can change her," she smiled (perhaps a little devilishly). "It'd be good practice."

"Nope." Sherlock backed away and shook his head. "John can have the practice when he returns."

"Oh, come on!" Molly held Moira out to him. "You'll probably have to do it eventually. No time like the present to start. I had to learn when I started babysitting my neighbours children."

The look of utter disdain never left his face as he contemplated the chore. Indeed, it was a task that he might one day have to perform since he was her godparent. The thought that he might be better at it than Moira's own father suddenly appealed to him. But, he would need as much data as possible.

"Very well," Sherlock shook out his arms and then proceeded to roll up his sleeves. "Tell me what needs to be done. It can't be that difficult."

Molly watched in amusement as Sherlock scrubbed his hands several times to get them clean and then took a pair of gloves from a box near the sink and put them on. She laid Moira on the bed and unwrapped the soft flannel swaddling sheets surrounding her and then placed her on the changing table. She took out a diaper from the hospital supplied changing kit along with some wipes.

"Okay," She motioned for Sherlock to stand in front of the baby. "When changing a baby, it's best to put the new diaper underneath the dirty one so that after you've cleaned her up, you can quickly remove it and then fasten the new one up before there are any accidents."

"Accidents?" He frowned.

"Sometimes, the cold air will urge the baby to pee. Mostly boys, but girls do that too sometimes."

"How lovely…" Sherlock grimaced as he opened and placed the new diaper underneath Moira's bottom.

"You can open the dirty diaper now."

Sherlock gagged and nearly jumped backwards when he saw the state of the diaper. "What in the name of all that is holy is _that_?"

It. Whatever it was. Was thick, tarry and greenish-black. There were traces of red in it that could only have been blood.

He coughed and spluttered while pinching his nose and turned his head the other way to take a breath.

"Is that normal?" He screeched. "That cannot be normal. JOHN!"

"It's okay, Sherlock!" Molly grabbed his flailing hands. It was so strange to see this man who was usually so utterly stoic and composed in his everyday life. Of course, he had his moments of when he couldn't keep still. But, for the most part, there was little that would faze him.

"This is called _meconium_. Babies will pass this mixture of mucus, amniotic fluid, digested food and sometimes blood for a few days after being born. It's all completely normal," Molly reassured him. "I promise. It's normal."

Sherlock took a deep breath through his mouth trying desperately not to take in any scent through his nose in the process. He wasn't successful. However, he calmed himself sufficiently to complete the task only having to pause twice to gag.

Molly, to her credit, did not laugh as she walked him through the steps of cleansing and changing Moira. And for that, Sherlock found himself again in the debt of Molly Hooper.

And, it might have been his imagination that his cheek still tingled from the light kiss his pathologist had placed there when John and Mary returned.


End file.
